The Astonishing Return of Norah Wells (17 page)

‘So, it's your birthday tomorrow?' asks Auntie Norah.

Willa nods. ‘I'll be seven.'

‘You must be excited.'

Willa shrugs. ‘I was.'

‘Not any more?'

‘Mummy promised she'd be here.'

Willa notices a red flush in Auntie Norah's cheeks.

‘I'm sure she will be. She wouldn't miss it for the world.'

Willa thinks that if Auntie Norah lived here when Ella was little, she must have been friends with Mummy, because they would have been living in the same house. In fact, Mummy might be Auntie Norah's sister, because that's what Auntie means. Mummy must be so happy to have Auntie Norah to visit too, which makes it doubly weird that she's not here. What happens if Auntie Norah doesn't stay very long and goes back to Australia and they don't see her for ages? Mummy will be sad that she didn't spend more time with her.

‘Will you still be here? When Mummy comes back?'

Auntie Norah hesitates. ‘Maybe.' Then she looks back at the house. ‘Come on, why don't we go inside and warm up. I'll make you a hot chocolate.'

‘What if Mrs Fox has her cubs tonight and I'm not there to help?'

‘You know what, Willa? I don't think Mrs Fox will come out now – the sky will be light soon and she won't want to be out here for everyone to see. She'll probably wait until tomorrow night.'

Willa chews her lip. ‘You sure?'

Auntie Norah stands up and holds out a hand to Willa. Willa grabs it and springs onto her feet. She likes that Auntie Norah is taking her seriously about Mrs Fox.

As they walk across the grass to the house with Louis lumbering behind them, something catches their eye and they both look up at the same time.

Ella has switched on the light in the attic. She's standing at the window, staring down at them.

Ella closes her curtains. She doesn't trust Mum or what she's been talking to Willa about out there. And she doesn't like that it's Mum who found Willa wandering out in the garden.

It should have been Ella who heard Willa getting up. And what happened to Louis? Faithful Louis, who's always the first to pick up on Willa's sleepwalking? But then he seems to be under Mum's spell too. As for Dad, he's such a deep sleeper he wouldn't wake up if the roof blew off. That leaves the one person who's always been there for Willa – Fay. Ella doesn't believe what Dad said about Fay working. Mum's scared her off.

Ella waits until she hears Willa go back to her bedroom. Then she walks out onto the landing and looks down the staircase to Dad's bedroom. She's going to wake him up and get him to explain what's going on and make him work out some kind of plan for getting rid of Mum. And she's going to tell him about what she found in the bathroom bin. That should shake him up a bit.

After going down the first few steps, Ella stops. The crow shakes its feathers and squawks.

Mum stands at Dad's door. She's wearing a big shapeless T-shirt and her skinny legs poke out underneath. She's humming some stupid jazz tune. Mum used to hum all the time. And then she got pregnant with Willa and stopped.

Mum steps forward and knocks on the bedroom door.

A beat of silence.

Don't answer it, Dad,
whispers Ella.

Heavy footsteps across the bedroom and then Dad's face at the door, his hair a mess, his dorky glasses lopsided.

‘Can we talk?' Mum asks.

No!
That's what Dad should say.
We can't talk. You're going to leave. Now.
Stop being such a wimp, Dad, Ella thinks.

Dad lets Mum in and closes the door behind them.

The crow pecks and pecks at Ella's stomach.

Mum doesn't have a right to go in there: it's Fay's bedroom now, Fay and Dad's. It's where Willa goes when she needs her parents.

The first time Dad made Ella lie about Fay being Willa's mum was on Christmas Eve, a year and a bit after Mum left. Willa was two.

Ella was sitting at the kitchen table, drawing a missing poster for Mum.

Willa pointed at Mum's red hair, her eyes wide.

Dad had warned Ella not to do her
finding Mum stuff
in front of Willa, but Ella didn't care. Sooner or later she'd have to know the truth.

Ella reckoned that, because it was Christmas, maybe people would notice her posters more, that they'd be thinking about their families and getting together around turkey and stuffing and roast potatoes – and that they'd feel sad that a mum was missing from her family.

Willa went back to playing with her Winnie the Pooh toys. And then, without warning, she pulled Roo out of Kanga's pouch, held him out to Fay and said,
Mu-Mum-Mummy!

Unlike the other children at nursery, Willa hadn't started talking yet. She didn't make many sounds at all. She never cried, not even when she fell over and scraped skin off her knees. And now she'd said her first word:
Mummy
. And she'd said it to Fay.

 

Ella walks down the last few stairs and stands beside the closed bedroom door. She leans in and tries to hear what Mum and Dad are saying, but their voices are muffled.

None of this is right.

After getting out her phone and sending a tweet, Ella runs down to the bottom of the stairs. She throws a coat over her pyjamas and looks at the trainers lying by the door. They're the old ones that belong to Mum. Ella doesn't have time to look for another pair of shoes so she pushes her feet into the soft canvas and runs out through the front door.

Already the sky is getting lighter. It's Sunday so the streets are empty: nothing but the sound of pigeons cooing on rooftops.

Ella runs across Holdingwell. It's good to feel the cold on her face; she opens her mouth, lets the night air sweep across her tongue and gulps it down her throat.

When she gets to Fay's house Ella leans against a wall to catch her breath.

Dad tried to persuade Fay to sell the cottage, but Fay always found an excuse to delay. At first Ella was relieved – she thought it meant that Fay knew what Ella knew: that Mum was coming home and that Fay would have to go back to her old life. But now Ella's worried. Worried for Willa and Dad. Maybe even a little worried for herself. She can't picture their lives without Fay.

It's clear: she has to find a way to tell Fay that she belongs with them, back on Willoughby Street. And she has to find a way to make Mum leave.

Fay's is the only house with a light on. She knew Fay wasn't at work.

Standing on the pavement, Ella watches Fay through the kitchen window. She's in an old flannel dressing gown, her hands covered in flour, and she's got some in her hair too. The radio hums around her, one of those cheesy romantic songs that Fay loves. When Fay first moved in Ella hated hearing Fay's music in their home; Ella would blast Mum's Louis Armstrong CDs from the attic to drown it out. Now, Ella feels sorry for doing that. She feels sorry for everything.

She even feels sorry for telling Fay that she wasn't Willa's mum. Fay's the one who stayed, isn't she? If anyone deserves to be Willa's mum, it's her.

Ella closes her eyes and wishes the night would take her away to wherever it goes when the sun comes up.

 

Don't call her that,
Ella had said when Willa first called Fay Mummy
. She's not your mother.

Ella!
Dad had snapped.

Willa frowned.

Fay stepped away from the table.

Well she's not
, Ella said.

Come with me
, said Dad.
Now
. He stormed out of the kitchen.

Ella followed him into the hall.

They went and sat at the bottom of the stairs.

It's not right, Dad. We can't lie to Willa
– she needs to know who her real mum is.
 

Dad shook his head.
Ella, it's more complicated than that.

No it's not. Fay's not Willa's mum.
 

Fay loves Willa like her own child. And all Willa's known is Fay
– she's too small to remember Mum. Do you want your little sister to grow up without having a mother?
 

She's not going to grow up without having a mother. They're going to find Mum
—
 

Ella, please.
Dad shook his head.
We've been through this. Your mum's not coming back
—

Ella pressed her hands over her ears. Dad pulled them away.

Whatever you think about what happened to Mum, we have to look after Willa. We have to make sure that she feels safe, that she knows she has a proper family.
 

We had a proper family, thought Ella. And we'll have one again, as soon as Mum comes home.

Through the open kitchen door, Ella watched Willa stretching out her pudgy arms to Fay. The scar under her eye was still a raw, angry red.

So you're going to marry her, then?
Ella asked.

What? No. It's not like that, Ella.
 

Since the fox attack, Fay had slept in Willa's room, but in the last few weeks, Ella had heard Fay sneaking out into Dad's room late at night. She could tell they were getting closer – and that one day Fay would go into Dad's room and stay and then they'd forget about Mum altogether.

Well I'm never going to call Fay Mum.
 

Okay
—
 

And just because you've given up looking for Mum, it doesn't mean I have to.
 

Dad nodded slowly.
I know how much you loved her, Ella.

I still do.
 

Dad tugged at his collar.
Yes, of course you do
. He stood up and held out his hand.
Why don't you come back into the kitchen and help with the mince pies? And we should celebrate Willa's first word, don't you think?

Ella's stomach tightened. She shook her head.
Not now, Dad
. She turned and walked up the stairs. And she'd kept walking until she got right to the top, to Mum's old room.

 

It takes Ella a second to notice that Fay is staring right at her through the kitchen window. When Ella raises a hand to wave, Fay disappears from the kitchen. A moment later she's at the front door.

‘What are you doing here, Ella?'

‘Why aren't you at work?'

Fay opens the door wider. ‘You'd better come in.'

The house smells of Fay. At home, Ella no longer notices it because it's blended with all the other smells: the smell of Louis and Willa and Dad, the smell of the new furniture, of the white paint on the walls. It's even mingled with Ella's smell. But here, in a place that belongs only to Fay, the smell hits her again.
A walking Ariel advert
, Ella used to whisper whenever she caught a whiff of Fay's clean clothes and her clean hair and her soap-clean skin. Ella preferred Mum's perfume, the one which, until a few days ago, she wore too – a smell of far-away places that were dark and rich and mysterious. But now Ella hates that smell. That's why she smashed the bottle of Shalimar she'd saved up for, for ages. Ella swears to herself that she'll never wear that perfume again.

On the way to the kitchen, Ella looks through the lounge door.

‘Your window's smashed —'

Fay stops walking. ‘Yes.'

Ella goes to the lounge door and looks at the shards of glass all over the carpet. ‘Did you have a break-in?'

‘Not exactly.'

‘Have you called the police?'

‘Nothing's been taken. It's fine.'

‘God. I never think of there being burglars and stuff in Holdingwell.'

‘No.'

Ella doesn't get why Fay –
make-sure-all-the-doors-and-windows-are-locked-don't-forget-to-set-the-alarm-Fay
–
is being so chilled about this.

She follows her into the kitchen. The surfaces are covered with bags of flour and sugar, packs of butter, tubs of sprinkles, bowls and whisks. There's a bottle of red food dye next to a baking tin in the shape of a fox.

‘So you'll be there for Willa's birthday?' Ella asks.

Fay tips the batter into the tin. ‘Of course.'

‘It's just, I thought, with Mum and everything…'

‘Want to try some?' Fay holds out the bowl. Ella dips her finger into the leftover batter. Closing her eyes, she tastes the mix of raw eggs and flour and sugar and vanilla and thinks back to how bad Mum was at cooking. She'd burn things and set off the smoke alarm, how Dad would have to order a takeaway.
Life's too short
, she'd say and then she'd get out her trumpet and play Ella a tune – as though they could eat music. Fay started cooking three-course meals from the day she moved in. Filled the kitchen with cookery books. Went to classes. Watched TV shows, set up her iPad in the kitchen with YouTube clips on how to make roast dinners.

Just because you can cook, it doesn't make you a mum,
Ella had wanted to tell her. ‘If Willa wants me to come, I'll be there,' Fay says.

‘Of course she wants you to come.' Ella pauses. ‘You're her mum.'

Fay blinks. ‘Does your Dad know you're here?'

Ella shakes her head.

‘Ella —'

‘He's busy. I didn't want to disturb him.' Blood rushes to Ella's cheeks. Busy talking to Mum in his bedroom, the mum who abandoned them. ‘Can I stay with you?'

‘You want to stay here?'

‘I can't face going back. Not now.'

Fay nods. ‘Okay. But I'll have to call your dad. He'll be worried.'

Ella shrugs.

‘And if you stay, you should get some sleep. You look exhausted.'

‘What about you, are you going to sleep?' She's never seen Fay look so bad. She's usually one of those bouncy, rosy, irritatingly energetic people. It's like all the life's been zapped out of her.

‘When Willa's cake is done,' says Fay.

‘Can I help?'

Fay smiles. ‘Okay.'

She carries the tin over to the oven. Then she comes back, picks up the icing sugar and the red dye and hands it to Ella. ‘We'd better get to work.'

As Fay leans over the cake book, her finger tracing the instructions for icing the fox cake, Ella can't help but look at her stomach. Fay's always been rounder than Mum, with fuller boobs and arms and legs. She probably looked like a grown woman when she was Ella's age. But the small hill of flesh that presses against the belt of her dressing gown, that's new. Ella imagines Fay's stomach growing and growing. She thinks of the small being in there, about how it belongs to Dad. To all of them.

‘Fay —?'

Fay turns round. ‘Yes?'

Ella keeps staring at Fay's stomach. She thinks of the pregnancy test lying in the top drawer of her desk back home.

She takes a breath to steady her nerves. If she's going to get Mum to leave, she's going to need Fay's help.

‘What is it, Ella?'

‘Do you hate Mum?'